


Love Like You

by FayerieQueen (MarriedHeathens)



Series: Lucretia [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, The Stolen Century, honestly they're just a big family and goddammit give me father/daughter/brother bonding time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-19 06:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15504729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarriedHeathens/pseuds/FayerieQueen
Summary: Lucretia has been alone since her mother's death, but upon the Starblaster she's found a new home, and a new family.A look through Lucretia's past, and the family she found.





	1. Distance

The Starblaster is the closest thing Lucretia’s had to a home since she was twelve.

Between the Taaco Twins, Magnus, and Barry, Lucretia had found siblings. Friends she could bicker with, be honest with, fight with-- and yet still know that they would be there for her at the end of the day. And where they were her siblings, Merle had become almost like a father to her. Merle’s advice was often foolish, but well-intended. And Davenport…

Davenport. Their Captain, the man who had hand-picked them as his crew. The gnome who had trusted them to finish this job. Who, ever since the Hunger had begun its dangerous path, had begun to treat the crew less like employees and more like a family-- even if he wasn’t _honest_ with himself about it. He, too, had become like a father to the young Chronicler. To the shy little thing that stayed in the background, writing and writing and writing, almost as if she was afraid to miss even a moment of the action.

She lay with him now on the observation deck, gazing up at the stars of this unfamiliar plane. Stars Lucretia had never bothered to learn, and yet Davenport seems to know intimately. Her head in his lap, his fingers running through her hair absentmindedly, he lifts a hand, to point and name them off the top of his head.

“That one’s Henlei. If you look, you can…” he shifts a bit, and Lucretia shifts with him, letting her gaze follow his hand. “--if you look, you can see where it sits at the very tip of Caliban’s shield.”

Squinting her eyes, Lucretia pauses, a frown tugging on her lips. “I can’t see it.”

With a sigh, the gnome reaches over, lifting her hand and pointing for her. “Here. Follow the curve, between Henlei and Trosto. That’s the shield. If you take a quick upward angle…”

* * *

“Follow the road, Lucy Lu, and take the first right.”

“Mama--”

Mariah kneels before her daughter, reaching to brush a dark hand over the other’s light hair, pushing it out of her face. Blue eyes soften, and a smile forms on her lips. Kind and soft and sweet, the same smile Lucretia gives on her good days. The same smile Lucretia would remember for the years, the decades, to come.

“You can do this, Moonbeam.” She kisses her daughter's forehead, pressing the package into her hands. When Mariah leans back, Lucretia can see the wrinkles around her mother’s eyes have deepened. She must be so tired. “It’s just ten minutes there and ten minutes back. I know you can do this.”

There is another moment of hesitation from the six-year-old, but then resolution sets in. Lips pressed together into a serious frown-- a frown that earns her mother’s laughter-- Lucretia nods, taking the package. It isn’t as heavy as she expected, considering how many layers of paper her mother had used to wrap its contents.

With her task ahead and her mind set, Lucretia turns from her mother. She lifts her skirts just slightly, gathering them enough so she doesn’t trip, and starts down the road leading from their little home into the heart of town.

Chubby legs carry her, ten minutes down and ten minutes back, just as her mother promised. The nice lady who had bought from her mother had invited Lucretia in, but she shook her head; her mother was expecting her, after all! She had a job to do. She did, however, stop a brief moment to giggle and gossip with Magnus, and to take a sweet he offered her.

In the end, it took thirteen minutes exactly. She arrives back at the home with a small envelope with jingling contents; Lucretia wants to pry, wants to see how much her mother’s potions were selling for now, but she doesn’t. She’s a good girl. She’s her mother’s moonbeam.

“Mama!” Pushing the door open, Lucretia pauses briefly to kick off her shoes, to place the gold on the table next to the door. “Mama, I did it!”

There’s no answer.

A frown tugging her lips, Lucretia abandons Magnus’ sweet at the table, peeking into the kitchen. No Mama.

“Mama? I’m sorry I’m late! Maggie’s Ma bought him two treats, and he--” Still no Mama, not in her bedroom, either. Perhaps she was in the greenhouse. “--he gave me one. I told him I couldn’t be late, but he’s just a stupid boy. He doesn’t listen to reason.”

Bare feet slap against the wood as she hurries down the porch, towards the greenhouse out back, where Mariah Greenfell raised all the herbs needed for her remedies, her healing. Where Lucretia was never allowed to go, except when invited. But Lucretia can hear the water going within, her mother’s music playing from the radio. A huff escapes the girl, who puts her hands on her hips.

“Mama, this isn’t funny!”

Still, no answer.

Stamping her foot on the ground, Lucretia reaches for the door. Small, chubby fingers hook into the worn and splintered wood, and she pulls it open with a soft grunt.

“ _Mama_!”

* * *

“Lucy?”

“I still can’t find Ariel’s wand,” huffs the girl.

Cycle Twenty-Something, and she is _still_ struggling with the stars. Her head was always in her books when she was younger, never the clouds. She had a real life to worry about, not-- not whatever the stars could offer her. She’s a writer, not a pilot. Rolling from her back onto her stomach, Lucretia rests her chin atop her hands, looking up at Davenport. One of the only times she can.

Pointing the star map Davenport brought, she adds, “I’ve found-- I can find Azlou, Oso, but I can’t…”

“It’s there, Luce. Look again.”

“I’ve been looking for an _hour_ , Cap’n. I don’t…” With a grunt, the girl lowers her head, hiding her face in her arms. A quiet grumble escapes. “I’m never going to be able to find this damned thing. I give up.”

“Don’t you dare.” She hears the sound of paper folding, being placed aside, and then Davenport is sitting next to her. Patting his leg. With another grumble, she moves, to rest her head in his lap. His fingers run through her hair. “There are new stars every year, Lucretia. Just because you can’t find all of them in that year doesn’t mean you aren’t making progress. Even a little step forward is progress. Look at Merle; I think he’s finally getting the hang of this cleric thing, and it’s only taken him, what? Thirty years? I’m still proud of him.”

“That’s gay, old man.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Accompanied by a gentle hum as he winds his fingers into her hair, pulling strands apart to braid them, “Now, show me where Ariel begins.”

* * *

“Please, Lucy, I can’t--”

“Mama, it’s okay.” She takes the bag from her mother’s hands, smiling up at her. She tries to ignore the bags beneath her mother’s eyes, the way those gentle hands tremble. She tries to ignore how _tired_ Mama has been since that day in the greenhouse. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m eight now!”

“And what a very grown-up girl you are.” Mariah reaches out, to touch her daughter’s cheek. Frowns, and Lucretia’s heart skips a beat. “Moonbeam, what happened here?”

“I can make it all the way across town and back without any trouble, Mama. I promise! I can--”

“ _Lucretia_.” The sharp command, harsh even when her mother can barely walk from one room to another, has Lucretia flinching back. Mariah seems to notice, taking a deep breath, “Lucy. Lucy, where did you-- What happened, babydoll?”

Ooh. Ooh, that name is never good. Lucretia isn’t a doll; she isn’t some delicate flower. She’s a delivery girl, and she can take care of herself. But she doesn’t say so to her mother. Instead, her eyes fall to her feet, and Lucretia shifts nervously. After a moment she mumbles,

“Some boys were goin’ after Magnus. I-- I wasn’t gunna let them hurt him. He’s my friend, Mama! He’s--”

“Moonbeam…” A soft sigh, and Mariah reaches up, to rub a hand across her face. She’s quiet for a long moment before finally adding, “Straight to the governor’s mansion and straight back. Don’t dawdle. Your aunt is bringing dinner over, and I don’t want you to have to shovel down cold stew.”

Lucretia sticks out her tongue, grimacing, but then immediately rights herself. Nods. It would take her a little longer to get across town-- all the way to the governor’s mansion!-- but she would do it, for Mama. Mama, who could barely walk anymore. Who stumbled over her words sometimes, whose memory and attention had started to wane. Not terribly; she still remembered whenever Lucretia had done something wrong, but… noticeably.

“Love you, Mama. I’ll be right back!”

Her legs push with every bit of strength she has. The past few years of being her mother’s delivery girl has taken the babyfat off the child in everywhere except her face. Not a good look for a child of eight. But not even the constant exercise could make her _grow_ any faster, which only contributes to her underfed look.

She isn’t underfed! Mama and Aunt Lulu feed her just fine. But she’s a runner; she has to run, to try to keep moving. It isn’t their fault she doesn’t like to sit still. _Too much energy for your own good, Moonbeam_ , Mama says.

She runs past some boys, hears a comment about _chicken legs_ and only pushes herself faster. Out of anger, out of spite. Chickens are dumb. Chickens can’t even take care themselves. She can! She takes care of herself, and of Mama. She’s going to a good school. She’s going to get into an even better school and do great things. She’s going to make Mama proud, and make those stupid boys regret calling her a _chicken_.

Lucretia arrives at the governor’s mansion in record time, panting and grinning. The package is exchanged, and the nice lady at the door gives her money in exchange. She also sneaks an extra two gold pieces, for such fast service. But just for her, the lady says. For her to spend on whatever she wants.

She decides to spend it on candies. Saltwater taffy, her favorite, and a luxury Mama often can’t afford. So she shifts her path, heading towards the docks. Her favorite candy shop sat just off the water, and it sold the _best_ taffy. If she was careful, if she batted her eyelashes and looked precious, she might even be able to get an extra bag of candy out of it.

In the end, she gets an extra two. One for herself, and one for Mama. Lucretia hadn’t asked for it, but the drow behind the counter had insisted. And who was she to argue when it involved _free candy_?

“Where you goin’, Burnsides?”

The candy halfway to her mouth, Lucretia tenses. Two boys up ahead, one on each side of Magnus, standing close to him. Too close. Lucretia felt her face start to burn.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fuck off.”

“Watch your language, Maggie. You wouldn’t want your old bitch to hear you say that.”

Magnus whirls, fist raised. The punch lands swiftly, knocking the first boy to his ass, but the second is quick to act. He leaps at Magnus, tackling him to the ground. Fists coming down and down and down as Magnus struggles to get out from under him.

Lucretia drops her bag of precious taffy, kicks off her shoes, and _runs_.

She kicks off from the ground with all the strength she can muster, screeching. Nails find the boy’s face, teeth in his shoulders. He screams and flails in an effort to remove the new combatant, but she holds on. Skinny, muscled legs wrap around his middle, ankles interlocking; he’s not getting away from her. Not after insulting Magnus. Not after hitting him. No one hurts her family.

She tastes blood in her mouth, hears the boy scream, but doesn’t let go. She doesn’t release him, not until a strong arm reaches between them, pulling the two apart with ease. The stranger moves between them, hands lifted. He’s saying something, something Lucretia can’t hear beyond the blood rushing in her ears. She’s struggling to get back to the boy, to teach him a lesson, but the stranger’s broad body blocks hers every time. He’s shorter than her, but only by a few inches, and seems to be ahead of her every move. Still seems to be speaking. She still can’t hear what he’s saying, but she’s sure it’s a nasty verbal thrashing.

It isn’t until she watches the brat turn the corner that she finally looks down.

To her surprise, it isn’t someone she knows. The unofficial referee is a stranger to her port, which, in itself isn’t unusual. A port town is often visited by travelers, by merchants. But those were humans, or elves. He… is not. He’s-- not a dwarf, she realizes after a second look, but a gnome. Red hair, amber eyes. Arms crossed over his chest.

“You shouldn’t have pulled me off of him.” Snarls the girl, crossing her own arms. Dark eyes shift from the man to Magnus, who is now sitting up, nursing a black eye. Ooh, she would kill them. She’d kill them for ever touching her brother. “I didn’t need any help.”

To her surprise, the gnome laughs.

“I could see that. If we’re being honest with each other, Biter, I wasn’t saving you from him.” And he leans in, lips curling into a warm smile. “I was saving him from you.”

She makes a grunt, moving around him, and this time he allows her. She tucks one arm underneath Magnus’, helping him to his feet.

“Next time, old man, mind your business.”

The gnome holds his hands up in defense and laughs once more, a sound that makes the girl press her lips together, frown deeply. An intimidating look on _anyone_ except for an eight year old.

As he turns to leave, she yells, “And my name’s Lucretia!”

* * *

“Lucretia!”

The warning comes too late.

Not to get her attention, not to warn her, because Lucretia already knows it’s coming. She’s purposefully placed herself between Magnus and the monster that loomed over them. Her hand is lifted, and the beginnings of a shield spell come from her lips, but it isn’t fast enough. _She_ isn’t fast enough.

The club comes down, hard, against her barrier, and it shatters. Behind her, she can hear Davenport screaming. Behind the monster, Taako has his wand up and ready. But neither of them are fast enough. Lucretia lifts her head, stares into the monster’s eyes, and remains planted in front of Magnus.

It’s her first death.


	2. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
>  
> 
> _but i've also never heard someone say i am not alone_  
> 

When she wakes, she’s not standing in the cockpit of the Starblaster, as Merle and Magnus and so many other members of family were. Instead she’s lying in her bed, blankets tossed gently over her. Her head is pounding, her mouth dry. The hum of the engines tells her all she needs to know.

“If that’s death,” murmurs the girl, “I’ve had my fair share.”

“I should hope so.”

Lucretia starts, and darkness creeps into the corners of her vision. Before it overtake her, there’s warmth against her knees, bringing her back to the present, and there’s Davenport. Standing before her, hands on her, grounding her; keeping her in the present, instead of the past where death and darkness cradled her.

“Hey, Cap’n,” she says, and smiles. Her head pulses as memories return; an ogre, attacking their camp, overrunning them. Striking Magnus down, posing to kill him. Her head pulses again. “How is everyone? Is Magnus okay?”

“Everyone is fine, Brightquill.” He squeezes her hands, then shifts, to place a hand upon her head. There’s a look in his eyes Lucretia had only seen a few times before; Merle’s awful death in Parlay, Magnus’ death at the hands of a wildfire. When Lup had fallen, but Taako remained. She had never been on the receiving end of it, and, seeing it now, she never wants to be again. “None of us _fainted_ upon reformation.”

He pulls away, glancing behind him, and Lucretia follows his gaze. Her reading nook lay disturbed, the chair pulled closer to her bed. A blanket tossed aside, and a book that wasn’t hers rested in its seat.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

The tips of his ears darken. “Of course not. Magnus was here until just a little while ago, but I sent him away. He needed to eat.”

“Did you threaten him with the brig?”

 _They didn’t have a brig_.

“Of course.” But there’s a smile in his eyes now, washing away the sorrow. It warms her heart, even as her head continues to pound. The thought of asking for Merle flits through her mind, but she quickly pushes it away when he asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’m-- I’m fine.” It’s a weak lie, so she quickly follows it up with, “I’m alive, Captain, and, from what I’ve seen, my research shows that’s the best outcome to dying.”

“Lucretia--”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, and reaches over to take one of his hands in hers, squeezes. “It’s-- It wasn’t exactly how I thought my first death would be. It’s-- I’ll need to record this. I’ve recorded all theirs, but experiencing it is far different from seeing it. There’s… Captain, there’s so much there, and yet nothing. I don’t--”

“Lucretia!” His voice is stern, enough to bring her back to the present. There’s that look again, darkening his amber eyes. All thoughts of her journals fade away. “I-- I don’t want to hear it. _Please_. I’m going to get you some tea, and-- and tell the others you’re awake. Please, just… _no recording_. You need to rest.”

He turns from her, towards the door. By his side, his hands clench, fingers fiddling.

“Captain?” She waits until his eyes are on her to smile, warm and true. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Mama?”

Mariah doesn’t move, but Lucretia can see her mother’s eyes turn from the ceiling to her. Her lips tug upwards, weakly.

“Moonbeam.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Slowly, balancing the mug and bowl on a single platter, Lucretia moves through her mother’s room. Dead plants everywhere, dry and crispy; dying from lack of care. “I brought you dinner. Maggie’s Ma made extra, and she said I could-- It’s cold now, but it’s… honestly, if you ask me, stew’s always better cold.”

She places the platter next to her mother’s bed, hooking one arm beneath Mariah’s shoulders. Gently, carefully, Lucretia helps her sit up, as she has so many times before. Shift the pillows this way, make sure the blankets stay where they are. She gets worse when she’s cold.

“Thank you, Moonbeam.”

She settles next to the bed, resting her head against folded arms. Watching her mother eat, even as those once capable hands tremble.

“Are you ever going to get any better, Mama?”

The spoon pauses, halfway to Mariah’s mouth. For a moment, she doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to breathe. Most of the stew falls back into the bowl, and Lucretia’s stomach drops. She watches as her mother replaces the spoon into the bowl, reaches for the cup.

She smiles, “Everything’s going to be okay, Lucretia.”

But they both know better.

* * *

 

“Lucretia, darling, we’re going planetside.”

Lup stands next to Taako, a grin on her lips. Taako smiles back, his hands on his hips. It would have been a wonderful moment to sketch, had she thought to bring her quills. Instead, she’s hunched over breakfast, one of Taako’s _Miracle Pancakes_ , with a mouthful of them currently stopping any chance she has at communication.

“You wanna come with, Luce?” It’s Taako who leans over her, Taako who _grins_ proudly and steals a bite of pancake. “We’re planning on stopping by the local town, seein’ if they have any… _new spices_ for us to try.”

She swallows, taking a swig of milk before, “Got anything in mind?”

“Magnus says they’re _all about_ that honey, chickadee, which means alcohol and pastries galore. Personally? I wanna see if they have any of those bug lollipops.”

“Yuck.”

Looping an arm around Lucretia’s waist, Lup pulls her from the table, leading her from the kitchen. Behind them, Taako follows, hands in his skirt pockets. Lups grins down at her, “What he means is he wants to find some spiderpops and throw them into Magnus’ bed. Because the last time went _so well_.”

The memory flashes through her mind, and Lucretia can’t help but giggle. She had grown up with Magnus, but it still surprised her just how high-pitched his voice could go when spiders were involved. The thought is enough to make her follow, even if the voice in the back of her head-- the logical, loving voice-- tells her to avoid upsetting her brother at all costs.

“He’s not going to be happy about it.”

“That’s the fun of it, boobaluh!”

In the end, Taako bought seven spiderpops, Lup seven jars of honey and a new collection of eyeshadow, and Lucretia… Well, she found a store that spoke to all of her interests. Sugar quills, perfect for chewing on, as well as an enchanted notebook that allowed the writer to ask questions related to arcane knowledge. Magic may not have been her strong suit, not yet, but its gifts would help her improve. If not that, then at least understand it more. Know more,so that she can later put it into practice.

She also left the shop with a starmap, rolled and tied neatly with a red bow. Her choice of color.

She stands now before Davenport’s door, one hand lifted. She’s been there for five minutes now, debating if this was okay. Debating if it is _appropriate_. They’ve all shared this ship for over sixty years. They’ve become a family. And yet still, standing before the door to Davenport’s office always makes her stomach drop and her heart clench. Still, she’s come this far.

“Captain?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the door swings open. A mage hand hovers before her briefly, then disappears. Davenport remains where he was, sitting in a rather comfortable chair with paperwork strewn about. He seems to brighten when he sees her, pushing aside his work.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, sir, but I--”

“Come inside,” he motions to one of the chairs. “I didn’t think it was time for our lessons.”

She does as she’s told, but doesn’t sit. Instead, she simply stands, the scroll still resting in her hands, “It isn’t, sir, I just…” _C’mon, Lucretia, you can do this._ “Lup and Taako took me down planetside a few hours ago, and I… I mean, I don’t know if this is _appropriate_ , but I saw this and thought-- Given our lessons, I thought you would like it.”

She presses the scroll into his hands, stepping back to clasp her hands behind her back. Standing, waiting, anxious. Too many thoughts running through her head to properly process them, even as Davenport removes the ribbon, unfurls the scroll.

The light that fills his eyes causes her heart to swell.

* * *

The next time she sees the gnome, she’s eleven years old.

He’s older now, too, but in a different way. His eyes are still bright, still warm, but there’s lines around the corners of his eyes. His mustache has filled in, and she can see the way he presses his lips together that he isn’t happy. He wears a navy uniform, stands like a military man, too. It’s enough to make her nose wrinkle.

“Stay off my ship, Biter.”

“Keep your ship off my dock, gnome.”

There’s a spark of something in his eyes, hidden behind the frown that remains. Her lips purse in a frown to match it.

“Go home, kid. You’re too young for the sea.” When she doesn’t move, he adds, “Your parents are probably worried sick.”

“Not mine!” giggles Maggie, currently too engrossed by a stray dog to really pay attention. Lucretia shoots him a look.

Stupid boy.

* * *

 

“I made it.”

She’s sitting against the bridge, curling in on herself. She’s trembling, shaking more than she ever thought she could. Her mouth is dry, her head pounding. Her head lifts, and she can see them. Her friends. Her _family_. They’re all back. They’re all back, and they’re here.

“I fuckin’ made it.”

Magnus runs from the room, and her heart falls. To check on Fisher, undoubtedly. But then the twins are there, and Merle, too. Surrounding her, all saying things she can’t pick out. Congratulations, perhaps, with tears in Lup’s eyes. Tears of pride. Tears of relief. Questions from Taako, punctuated by only the swiveling of his ever-expressive ears. Merle-- sweet, kind, wonderful Merle-- talking to her in the calmest voice of the three. His hands glowing, skimming over her, searching for wounds he knew wouldn’t be there.

It isn’t until much later, when she’s alone in the kitchen, nursing a cup of Taako’s Special Cocoa, that Davenport makes his appearance. He settles across from her, pouring himself a glass of brandy. For a moment, they simply sit, basking in the quiet.

She’s the first to break the silence.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the stars this cycle.”

His glass, still half-full, clatters against the counter, and Lucretia looks up, eyes wide. Davenport is looking at her; Davenport, her composed captain, with a wide, unbelieving expression. His hands tremble.

“Is-- is that what you’re-- _Lucretia_. Lucretia, Brightquill, is that what you’re--”

“I was...” She shakes her head, bringing the mug to her lips, letting the spicy warmth spread through her before continuing, “I was trying, Captain. I had to keep leaving the ship to run and hide and… and _survive_. I did it; I know I did. I _made it_. But it took so long…”

There are tears pricking her eyes now. Her hands tremble, and she can’t force herself to release the mug, to wipe away her sorrow, her regret. There is so much more she could have done, if only she had been more proactive in their first sixty-four cycles. Their year of suffering, her year of loneliness, it all could have been prevented had she just…

“Oh, Brightquill.”

His own drink forgotten, Davenport leaps atop the counter, coming to stand before her. His hands lift, to wipe away the tears she can’t. When she looks up at him, his eyes are soft, warm-- loving, in a way she hasn’t seen in so long. Since before Mariah’s death. Since before she was left so utterly, awfully alone. It tears a sob from her lips.

His arms come to wrap around her, and she sinks against him. Shaking in his grasp, she tries to speak, but all that comes out are soft, whimpered gasps. His hands rub wide, warm circles into her back, but he doesn’t sush her. He doesn’t try to quiet her.

“You’ve had to be alone for so long, Brightquill. No one blames you. No one-- no one thinks this cycle a failure, Lucretia. Especially not a failure for you.” He shifts, cups her face. Gently, his thumbs brush away fallen tears. She can’t look him in the eye. “You have done… You are absolutely _amazing_ , Lucretia. Listen to me. Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He kneels, trying to meet her eyes, but she quickly closes them. “Yes, you can, Lucretia. Look at me. You saved us, Lucy. You saved us _all_ , and you did it by yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Slowly, gasping noises still coming from deep within her chest, Lucretia opens her eyes. Finds his gentle amber gaze with her tear-filled own. Davenport smiles.

“I am so, so proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you're enjoying my little headcanon-filled trail through Lucretia's past. If you are, leave me a kudos or a comment; I would really appreciate it! She's my favorite of the crew, and I adore fantasy mom.


	3. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _what do i know about love?_  
> 

She doesn’t talk about that horrible, terrible cycle again for ten more.

There’s a change in her, one that everyone notices, but doesn’t dare mention. Not aloud, at any rate. She can see the way Lup considers her; how Barry asks for her opinions. Even Magnus treats her a little differently; allowing for her to accompany him, to fight with him. She is no longer just their chronicler; she’s part of the team. Perhaps she always has been.

It’s Magnus who approaches her first, in her own room. With that stupid grin on his face, he pushes the door open, two mugs in one hand. In the other, he holds a plate of macaroons.

“Courtesy of Taako,” he explains, and settles next to her on the bed. She has to put her books away to accept the offerings, but still gives him a smile. Perhaps it’s time she takes a break, anyways. “Says he hasn’t seen you since a few days ago and was worried you weren’t properly feeding yourself.”

“He’s not wrong,” she says, and chuckles. The drink is warm, with a hint of cinnamon and chocolate, and thick. Gods, she missed his cooking. “I’ve been… I’ve been _recording_ our last couple of cycles. I got behind, when Lup and Taako decided to bring me along a few cycles ago, and I need to— I need to—”

“Lucy?”

When she looks at him, there are tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Lucy…”

“I can’t do it, Magnus.” She looks down to her journals, where two pages lay open, bare, but tear-stained. Near the top, _Cycle 65_ is written in shaky script. “I can’t do it. I don’t— I can’t—”

His drink forgotten, Magnus throws his arms around her. She’s starting to tremble, shaking so violently it feels as though she’ll fall apart if he’s not holding her. So he shifts, to pull her into his laps, and presses a kiss into her hair. Pink braids, courtesy of Lup this cycle.

“You don’t have to, Creesh. You don’t have to--”

“ _I do_. I do, that’s why I’m here. That’s the whole reason the Captain hired me. That’s the whole reason I’m here.” She’s clutching his robe now, a fistful of red fabric between her fingers. “That’s the only thing— That’s all I can do. I have to record this. If I don’t, then who— who—”

“Lucretia.” One hand lifts, to wipe away her tears. Magnus smiles, gentle and warm and real, and Lucretia feels her coming back from where she started to slip. Back here, with Magnus. With her family, aboard the Starblaster. “Lucretia, if you think— Do you really think the only reason you’re still here is because you can _write_?”

“Not anymore,” she says, and hiccups a soft laugh. “I’m stuck here because you guys can’t get rid of me. Cycles are a bitch.”

“That’s not true at all.” His voice is soft, and he swallows hard. There’s something there, something Magnus isn’t telling her, but she can’t pry. She won’t. Not right now. “Lucretia, you saved us _all_. You can’t-- you can’t honestly think you haven’t proven yourself.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know what it was like.” Swallowing hard, trying to push down the sweltering emotions, “That year. It was— That year. There’s so much there. So much I couldn’t tell them. So much I couldn’t tell Dad or Taako or-- or even Merle. So much. The way they looked at me, Maggie. They were so proud. They were— What if they hear what happened and— You saw how they looked at me. I can’t tell them.”

For a moment, Magnus is quiet. Then, slowly, he shifts, to cradle her to his chest. Lifting her, taking her to her reading nook. Together, they sit amongst her books and blankets, Magnus cradling her to his chest. His face in her hair, hers in his chest.

“Talk to me, then.”

“Maggie—”

“Talk to me, Lucretia.” Slowly, his fingers work through her hair. “Talk to me, like when we were kids. When it was just us. I love you, Lucretia. Nothing will ever change that.”

* * *

She’s wailing in his arms, inconsolable.

He didn’t realize; he hadn’t known. He’d come to check on her; she hadn’t been to school in nearly two days, and that wasn’t like her. Not his Lucretia. Not his _sister_. She’s the brightest girl in school. Eleven years old, one year from graduating. She has a career ahead of her, a life beyond what he could even imagine. He’s been so _worried_.

“Creesh. Creesh, it’s— it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

But there’s nothing he can say, nothing that will take away the pain. He only had to give Mariah’s room a glance to know what had happened, to know why she’d disappeared. Had it happened recently? Or had she been gone for two days now? Had Lucretia been _alone_ the past two days, with only— only a corpse to keep her company?

He doesn’t say anything, simply lifts her into his arms. He doesn’t stagger beneath her weight; doesn’t stumble. She’s always been a small thing, and recent years had been kind to him. He’s nearly twice her size now. Magnus lifts her from the bedside, even as she wails, as takes her from the room. He would need to find his mother, the city elders. Someone would have to give Mariah her burial rites. But that... that was for later. This moment was for _Lucretia_.

“I’m here,” he whispers, and presses a kiss into her hair. Her hands beat weakly against his chest, and she _screams_. She screams for him to take her back, let her help. Tears prick his own eyes. “I’m here, Lucy. It’s okay. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

* * *

“I ran for so long, Maggie.”

She hasn’t moved from his lap, and he’s okay with that. If she feels safe, if she’s comfortable, then he will let her be. He’s had worse, certainly; Taako, with all his harsh angles, and Merle, heavier than he looks. Compared to them, she is nothing but the familiar weight of his little sister. He lets his hands fiddle with her hair, twisting a few braids together. Cruder, perhaps, than Lup or Davenport’s work, but still viable.

“I was so scared. I knew-- I knew if I failed, then it would be all over. We would _lose_ , and we’d be— we would all be dead. It was up to me, and I was— I was _so scared_. I’ve never had such a weight on my shoulders.”

His mind flashes to Mariah, to those last suffering years, and Magnus shakes his head, “How could you? But you did it, Lucy. You _did it_. And we’re all—”

“No. No, you don’t understand. They… The things that happened on that plane.” She’s trembling again, but her voice doesn’t waver. An improvement. “I ran, yes, but they… they chased me, Magnus. They were looking for me. I had to learn to fight. I’ve never fought anything before, not like that.”

“Except schoolyard bullies.”

She smacks him, and he laughs. Lucretia tries to look angry, tries to pout, but he can see the warmth in her eyes, and that’s enough. Another improvement, even as she closes her eyes.

“They were so _obsessed_ , Magnus. I’ve never seen such a lust for justice. They way they acted, the way they… they almost seemed to need it.” Her eyes soften, and he can see a sort of fogginess covering her irises. “It was corruption, pure and simple. They were so desperate to pursue justice that they… they ended up _twisting_ it. It was nothing but a perversion of justice. There was no mercy. There was no true justice, just... just  _horror_. It—”

“Lucy.”

“No! No, don’t— Don’t stop me. Not now. I need to…” She’s trembling in his grip, but her voice remains steady. Her eyes are still fogged over. “I need to, Maggie. It was an awful year. I was so, so _alone_ . I thought I was going crazy at some points, hearing voices and… and looking back now, I know they were just the result of dehydration or hunger, but they sounded so _real_ . One especially. She talked me through things, told me how to make myself blend in with smaller villages. _Head up, Lucy; eyes straight ahead. Keep moving. Keep moving._ I don’t—” She grasps at his shirt, and those dark eyes finally find his face. She’s here, again. Here, back with him. “I don’t understand what we ever did to them.”

“Creesh, we didn’t— we had our own sins, but—“

“Maggie… _Maggie_ , they took one of my eyes. I very nearly drowned while running from them. I escaped, I lived, but it was— it was _awful._ I still can’t escape that place, and it’s been nearly ten cycles. I can’t— I’ve never been in so much pain.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Magnus shifts them both, so that she is laying against his chest. Head on his shoulder, hands over his heart. His arms remain tight around her, as though trying to protect her from the memories. Memories that haunt her, haunt them all. Memories that threaten to tear his sister apart. Gently, he presses a kiss into her hair.

“Do you want me to get Merle? Or— or Cap’n’port?”

She shakes her head, trembling still but confident. “You’re all I need right now, Maggie. Just you.”

* * *

She’s three weeks shy of twelve years old when they bury Mariah.

He stands beside her through the entire process, from picking out her mother’s shroud to the final embers of the funeral pyre. She doesn’t cry the entire process; he hasn’t seen her cry since he took her from her house and brought her to his. He’s seen her tremble, seen her turn to her journals and her letters to no one, but not once has she wept.

“Creesh—”

“One more moment.”

She sounds so much older than she is and so, so very tired. The sparse crowd of mourners has long since dispersed, and only they remain. Slowly, every step filled with gravitas, Lucretia breaks from his side and stands next to the pyre. Its flames have long since cooled, and now only the last dying embers remain of a woman he’d never known, but Lucretia had loved. Her shoulders tremble as she gathers her skirts in her hands, but she doesn’t stumble. She kneels instead and produces a bundle of letters from the bosom of her dress.

She speaks in a language he doesn’t understand. It’s neither Common nor Elvish, though there is a lyrical quality to it. A prayer, perhaps? Or a message to the dead. Whatever it is, it doesn’t last long, and the girl finishes it with a clenched fist over her heart. The letters are thrown into the fire, and, as they begin to blacken, Lucretia stands.

“You okay?”

“No.” It’s quick; matter of fact. “But I will be.”

* * *

“I told you two to stay off my boat.”

“You’re not my father.”

Worry gnaws at Magnus’ stomach as his eyes flit from his sister to the half-orc before them, the crewmen behind _him_ . He reaches over, to grab his sister’s hand, and Lucretia lets him, but never once takes her eyes off the scarred orc. They’d had their bags packed, their resolves set. They had been ready to _leave_ Grim Beach once and for all, and now? Now they’d been caught, and the ship’s captain didn’t seem too pleased about it.

“Stowaways aren’t _welcomed aboard_ , human.” His lips curl upwards, and Magnus could see the very sharp point of a tooth. Down by the orc’s side, his hand clenches into a fist. “How many times are you gunna have to learn that lesson, squirt?”

“We have money!” Lucretia turns from him, to reach into her bag, “We can pay you. We just need to get to the next town over. We just need to get _away_ from—”

Her words are cut off as the orc brings his fist across the back of her head. Lucretia cries out, stumbling to her knees as her hands lift. Beneath white hair, Magnus can see a blot of blood, and it turns his vision red.

He turns, lowering his shoulder, and barrels towards them, knocking the captain off his feet. Fists raising, punching, pounding down on the orc’s face. With every blow comes another growl, another grunt, another burst of anger. She’s just a little girl. She’s his _sister_ , and this-- this _thing_ believes himself better than them? Enough so that he could put his hands on Lucretia?

Two arms wrap around Magnus’ middle, tearing him away, and he roars in anger. The orc scrambles from beneath him, raising a hand to wipe away blood.

“Let me go!” He twists, looking behind him, and sees another orc; this one thinner, female, but still a formidable foe. Magnus snarls in anger. “Let me go! I’ll kick his ass. I’ll-- I’ll--”

“I wasn’t saving you from him,” hums a familiar voice. The gnome’s eyes twinkle as he kneels beside Lucretia, offering her a hand up, “but I think you already know that. Is he all right, Angora?”

“Perfectly stable.”

Once Lucretia is standing, he removes a small handkerchief from his pocket; embroidered along a small corner is the logo of their country’s navy, along with the letter D in flowing script. Magnus frowns, but Lucretia smiles weakly, accepting the offering, and places it against her wound. Then, the gnome turns to the gathered crew, lifting his chin, amber eyes darkening. It’s enough to spark fear in even Magnus, who goes still in the orc’s arms.

She shifts him, allowing him to rest in the crook of her elbow, and grins down, “This is gunna be good, kid.”

The gnome straightens his back, clasping his hands behind his back, and steps forward. Steps between the captain and the children. Behind him, his tail is stiff, save the tip, which twitches ever-so-slightly. A cat, ready for the chance to pounce on its prey.

“I want your names and the name of your ship, immediately.”

The captain glances over at his crew, shifting almost nervously, before turning his gaze onto the gnome once more. Slowly, his lips curl into a smile, a snarl. His cuts are still oozing, with small rivulets of blood dribbling down his face, but the gnome doesn’t seem to care. He simple grimaces, and lifts a single gloved hand.

“Names and ship, immediately.”

“And who are you, pipsqueak?”

Angora tenses, whispering, “Oh no.”

Magnus turns, to look up at her. Brown eyes wide, scared, “Oh no?”

“Oh no.”

“ _Shit_.”

When he turns back to those gathered, he’s surprised to see the gnome is no longer standing before them. Instead, he’s leapt over the first orc, one hand digging into his throat, the other holding a knife, its tip resting just below the other’s eye. With careful precision, the gnome pressed; not much, not enough to hurt him, but enough that blood started to blossom from beneath his blade. The orc begins to tremble, and the crew behind him freeze. For a long, long moment, no one moves.

“I said,” whispers the gnome, “your name and your ship. _Now_. Or I’ll have to release the children back on you.”

Magnus begins to wriggle at that comment, grinning. Angora shakes her head, shifting him now so he’s tucked under her arm. As _hilarious_ as it would have been to see the captain get beaten by a child for a second time, she isn’t going to endanger two children; not when her own captain has things under control.

“Captain Krogán of the Courser,” he finally replies, and the gnome grins. “We were just comin’ through to get some supplies. We’ll be gone by morning.”

“You’ll be gone by sundown.”

The gnome pushes off of the orc’s back, to land in his previous spot. Hands move, to readjust his uniform, dust off his jacket. He puts his knife away, and turns to offer the kids a gentle smile. Behind him, the gathered orcs and men look at each other for another moment before they scatter, presumably to do as they were commanded. Magnus could only hope so; otherwise, he would find them, and he _would_ finish off that ugly, stupid orc.

“Do you two always find yourself in this much trouble?” He nods over at Angora, who kneels, to place Magnus back on the ground. He lifts his chin. “Attacking other children, trying to stowaway on ships...”

“You’re in the navy,” Lucretia says, cutting him off. She steps forward, offering out the handkerchief, and presses her lips together. She’s frowning, or-- or thinking; Magnus can never tell with her. Either way, it makes his heart swell. “You could get in trouble for that.”

He shakes his head, “I was defending children, and my honor. I did nothing reprehensible, Biter.”

“Lucretia!” She stomps a little foot, and he laughs. Magnus can’t help but giggle as well. “I’ve told you, gnome, my name’s Lucretia.”

He offers out a hand, gaze softening, but the smile never fades from his lips, his eyes. “And I’m Captain Davenport.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _you're what i know about love_  
> 


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _I love you._  
> 

She’s eighteen years old when Magnus gives her the news. They’re sitting together, a meager dinner splayed out between them, but it’s enough. It’s _more_ than enough. Her book sales have been taking off, and Magnus’ carpentry is finally starting to reach a point where he feels comfortable to sell his work. Mostly ducks, mostly children’s toys, but it’s enough for them to have a few extra coins.

She’s spreading the dregs of her second bowl of stew across a piece of bread when he finishes his third, pushing it aside. For a moment, they sit in silence; comfortable, warm. Dinners were often best enjoyed in silence, especially after some of the days they’d had. It is a reminder; they are still friends, still family, no matter how their hobbies seem to differ.

“I need to tell you something.”

She doesn’t look up, simply asks, “You pregnant?” before shoving the dripping roll into her mouth.

He shakes his head, fighting back a smile as Lucretia wipes the gravy from her mouth, “Not that I know of, but, hey, crazier things have happened.” His smile falters, just briefly, and with it, Lucretia’s confidence. “I, uh-- I was talking to the twins, and they got me an interview with the Captain. I’ve been accepted, Luce. I’m, um, I’m going to be heading out in a few months.”

“What?”

Her voice is enough to make his stomach drop. His eyes fall, desperate for something to look at; something other than Lucretia’s face, the tears welling in her eyes. “They need a chief of security, and apparently ‘Ko thought I’d be good at the job. I talked with the Captain, and… he thought I’d make a good addition to the team. The crew. The pay’s decent, and it means I get to go out and see the stars, but…”

“You’re leaving me?” He tries to ignore how her voice trembles, breaks. “Maggie, you--”

“It won’t be for long, just a couple of months. It’s going to be all right.”

She pushes herself up from the table, taking the empty bowls as she turns to the sink. He doesn’t have to see her to know her hands are shaking, her mind whirling. They hadn’t been without each other since Mariah’s death; perhaps even longer. But he can’t pass up this opportunity.

“I don’t want you to.”

His head shoots up. “What--”

“I don’t want you to think I’m… I’m _upset_ at your decisions, Maggie.” She doesn’t turn to face him, and instead has set her mind to washing dishes. He doesn’t stand to help her. “I know this is-- this is _good_ for you. This is what you wanted. I won’t stop you. I’m just…”

“I know.”

“I’ve never--”

“I know.” He stands, finally, and moves to her side. Taking one of the bowls and a towel, he begins his portion of the chore, “I know, Lucy. I’m not-- I’m not doing this to _get away_ from you, or anything like that. It’s what’s best for me.”

Now it was her turn to murmur, “I know. I really am happy for you, Maggie.” She turns to smile, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. It’s a smile he’ll see a lot later, when they’ve become nothing but strangers. “I’ll figure out something to do here, while you’re gone. I’m a big girl now; I can take care of yourself.”

He leans over, to press a kiss to her hair as she hands him the second bowl, “I love you, Luce.”

* * *

From the moment her mother died, Lucretia was left with nothing but desperation to protect those she had left. Magnus protected her throughout those years; he was the one to keep her safe. And when she fell protecting him so many cycles before, he refused to let her out of his sight for too long. But even with Magnus watching over her, she’d joined in. She’d fought to keep her family safe, fought beside Magnus, Lup, Taako-- fought to keep them all from dying as much as possible.

Cycle Seventy-Three, however, seems to want to test her resolve, and her strength.

It’s been a rough year; a terrible year. Out of all of them, Barry fell first; dying to a surprise attack by the locals of the plane. Large, terrible creatures with mouths that stretched beyond what Lucretia ever thought possible; their saliva, as they would later learn, was also poisonous. They had saved him from the creatures, but not from the poison within. It had been a slow, terrible, withering death that had sent Lucretia flashing back.

Lup had momentarily lost herself in grief, destroying the small village, and Lucretia couldn’t blame her for that. None of them could. None of them _did_.

But it had only strengthened Lucretia’s resolve to protect those she had left.

She stands in the middle of the group now, hand lifted. Her brain pulses as she focuses her power, channeling all she has into her spell. A simple shield, but enough to keep the majority of the horde at bay. Before her, Magnus swings his axe; Taako and Merle fire off shot after shot. Some of the creatures fall and remain dead, but others soon stand back up.

“We can’t keep doing this!” Lup calls, glancing back at their Captain. Lucretia feels her stomach churn, “They just keep coming.”

“Back to the ship.” It’s said through gritted teeth, but the order remains. Davenport moves to separate Lup and Lucretia from the boys, nods in the direction of the Starblaster. “Magnus and I will watch your back.” When they hesitate, “Go!”

Lup nods, turning from the battle. Merle falls back as well, giving Davenport a quick sympathetic look before he, too, waddles back towards the ship. Taako follows soon after, but not before downing an enemy and shouting, “Get fucked!” _Poetic as always,_ she can’t help but think.

When their Captain turns his eyes onto her, she shakes her head.

“Lucretia!”

“I’m keeping them at bay. You and Magnus go; I’ll keep the shield up.”

“Lucy,” Magnus starts, but is quickly cut off as one of the monsters dig its teeth into his arm. He brings his axe down, splitting the monster’s skull, but the damage is done. He wobbles. “Go! Both of you!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Davenport leaps to stand beside Magnus, slicing the ankle of an attacker, “That is an order! Get back to the ship and take off; we can’t lose anyone else.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but it’s cut off by a _scream_ as Davenport’s overwhelmed. Monsters from all side, breaking though her trembling barrier, surrounding him. Lucretia watches in horror as he leaps from one to another, dexterous, but unable to do nearly as much damage without his team behind him. Magnus struggles to stand, but another quick bite from the monsters leaves him bloodied, his breathing labored.

“Dad, we have to go!”

But her cry comes too late. Davenport leaps, and the monster shifts. He misses his target and falls, colliding with the ground, skidding through the dust to land just a few feet from her. He doesn’t move. Ice creeps through her veins.

One steps forward, large and terrifying, and wraps a hand around her Captain’s ankle. It lifts him into the air, tilting its head back. Lucretia’s heart leaps into her throat, head pounding. Droplets of sweat bloom along her hairline. That terrible maw opens, awful and dripping with poison, and soon Davenport is falling through the air.

Only to be caught with a bright blue mage hand. As the creature blinks, confused, Lucretia pulls her Captain back to her, just as the barrier reappears. The hand deposits Davenport into waiting arms. Lucretia turns, running. Behind her, she hears the creature roar, large hands pounding against the hard light of her barrier. But she can’t stop. She won’t. Magnus may have fallen, but she wouldn’t lose her captain.

“Lucretia, hurry!”

Past Lup’s voice, Lucretia can hear the engines of the Starblaster warming up. She pushes her legs harder, faster, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the monsters as possible. It only takes fifteen seconds to make it to the Starblaster, though it feels much longer, and she leaps aboard. Cradling Davenport to her chest, tucking herself around him, she clears the jump. Her body rolls, stopping at Lup’s feet, and she can hear the doors hiss close behind her.

“Lucy.”

Lup kneels beside her, brushing braids from her hair, but Lucretia pushes her hand away. She forces herself to her knees, looking down at the Captain. Face bruised, hands skinned, but not bitten. Not bitten.

“He’s fine,” she whispers, holding him-- their _Captain_ \-- to her chest. Tears well, but she forces them down. She can't cry; not here. Not in front of everyone, “He wasn’t bitten.”

“Were you?”

“No.” She pushes herself up, “I wasn’t. I’m-- I’m _fine_. I kept my distance. Taako, can you make him something to drink? I’m-- I’m going to get him back to his room.”

She’s halfway out the door when she hears Taako, soft and quiet, ask, “Magnus…?”

Holding Davenport tighter to her chest, she runs.

* * *

When she enters the room, books in hand, she’s startled by the man sitting before her.

Magnus had told her everything; their captain was a gnome, careful and well-spoken, but not so easily impressed. Apparently he had _forgotten_ to mention that the gnome was the same one who had saved them all those years ago. Who had continuously come into their lives, only to leave a short time later. It only makes her frown deepen.

“Davenport.”

“ _Captain_ , Ms. Greenfell.” He lifts a hand, motions for her to take a seat. “Please, come in. You wrote in your letter that it was urgent.”

“Yes.” She settles in front of him, shifts a bit. This isn’t what she expected, but the plan hasn’t changed; it won’t change. “You and your team are leaving in two months, and I want to be on your ship.”

Bushy red eyebrows lift and, though he tries to contain himself, Lucretia can see the surprise in his eyes. He opens his mouth, as if to argue, but she holds up a hand. Before him, she places several books, some with her name on them, and others without. She waves her hand, to point to all of them at once, and continues.

“I’ve written countless books, Captain. You already have a team full of scientists, of fighters, of protectors, but you have no one to tell your story when we return.”

“And you are offering your services?” When she nods, he smiles, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly, “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Burnsides?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips twitch again, “Of course not. So, tell me, what can you add that a Captain’s Log won’t catch?”

She laughs, earning another raising of those bushy eyebrows. “Details, Captain. A captain’s log can only provide so much. You’re in charge of commanding the ship, of piloting, and of ensuring the safety of five other crew members. With me it would be six. Your responsibilities are vast and numberless. Mine would be one: recording our adventures for everyone to read when we return. It’s a hero’s journey; you deserve a hero’s telling.”

He smiles again, and this time it’s wide.

“And would you consider yourself a hero, Ms. Greenfell?”

She stiffens, lifting her chin. “I am a chronicler.”

“Good. We have enough heroes in this world.” He stands, extending a hand, and Lucretia takes it without hesitation. “Welcome aboard.”

* * *

She remains faithfully by his side.

Taako brings them both a drink, warm and rich and calming. He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to. Instead, he reaches out, placing a hand upon her shoulder, and squeezes. They stand like that for a moment, silently mourning, and then he’s gone. Lucretia collapses into a chair.

She grieves, as she always does when she can’t save them. Magnus, her brother, lost to monsters she wasn’t strong enough to kill. Davenport, nearly killed himself. And Barry-- stupid, stupid Barry, unable to return to the ship in time all those weeks ago. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, and her fingers dig into her scalp, pulling at her braids. She wants to scream, to rage, to ask the gods _why_. Why couldn’t they escape? Why did they always have to die? Why her _brother_?

She’s half-asleep, curled in a chair far too comfortable for her own good, when Davenport finally stirs. Exhausted, desperate for just five more minutes, when he speaks.

“I told you to go.”

She opens her eyes, finally, to look at him, and feels her stomach sink when she sees just how pale he is. Still alive, though, and that is all that matters. She doesn’t move from her position, simply smiles. “I wasn’t going to abandon you.”

“I gave an _order_.”

“Magnus had already fallen. We can’t lose--”

“That is why you needed to listen!”

“--We can’t lose you both.” Finally, she shifts, pushing herself up into a proper sitting position. Her back groans in protest, her head pulsing at the sudden change, but she pushes through it. “This crew needs its captain.”

He’s sitting up now, too, and Lucretia notices the way his hands tremble. He takes the mug, lukewarm by now, but it doesn’t help. She’s already seen it. “Lucretia, I gave you an _order_. You are part of this crew, and you-- You don’t get to make those calls. The choice of saving one life over your crewmates does not fall to you.”

“I don’t care.” Davenport pulls back, as though slapped, but she continues, “I don’t _care_ what falls to me anymore. You are my _family_. I had to watch Magnus fall. I had to watch you nearly die at the hands of those monsters. Lup and Taako and Merle were safe. They would have reset the cycle. I wasn’t going to finish this one without you.”

He sits, quiet for a moment, staring into the mug in his hands. Not drinking, not yet; Taako’s drink was just as good cold as it was hot, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to take the first sip. His mustache trembles, and Lucretia _aches_ to reach out, to comfort him. She knows. She _knows_. Magnus’ death was hard on all of them, just as much the fifteenth time as it was the first. A sigh escapes.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t-- I can’t do this without you. Not without both of you.”

Davenport lifts his head, an eyebrow arched, and it is only then that Lucretia realizes what she’s said. One hand lifts to cover her mouth; the other clenches at her robe.

“I’m sorry. I’m _so,_ so sorry. I didn’t…” She can feel her face heating up, and wants nothing more than to just phase through the back of the chair and disappear forever. Maybe spend a few cycles checked into the Astral Plane. Anything to avoid having this conversation. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“This isn’t the first time.” His words are even, and only make her chest tighten. “Back on the planet--”

“I was scared, Captain.” She isn’t sure if it’s an answer or not, but she wraps her arms around herself, curls in on herself, and continues, “Magnus had fallen. He’s-- I know. I know, he’s going to come back next cycle, but it always _hurts_. And to see him killed in front of me, to see you trying to-- to protect me, I just-- I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_.”

She hears the cup clink gently against his side table and closes her eyes, squeezing them tightly. All the strength she’d gathered, every ounce of courage she’d managed during that terrible fight, seems to flee. She wants to run. She wants to hide. She wants to disappear and never be seenagain, if it means escaping this one moment.

“Brightquill.” His hands find hers, tug gently. Her shield falls, and once more she’s open before him, bare and vulnerable. “Look at me.”

She doesn’t, and Davenport releases her hands. She feels him shift, approach, and her throat tightens. For a brief moment, she feels sick. Perhaps if she asks him to forget about it, they can both go on with their day. Or maybe she can ask Taako to just wipe the whole memory from her mind; then she’ll never have to feel this nauseating heat again.

His arms wrap around her neck, tugging her close to him. He rests his head against hers, temple against temple, and Lucretia slumps forward. A noise escapes from deep within her chest; it’s not quite a sob and not quite a whimper, but something that makes her feel weak. Pathetic. Perhaps she hasn’t become nearly as strong as she thought.

“Don’t you ever disobey my orders again,” he whispers, pulling back from her. His eyes seem to shine. “But I’m proud of you.”

With a half-laugh, Lucretia returns the hug, holding him tightly; perhaps even a little too tightly, given the squeak that comes from her Captain. But she can’t seem to care; she just wants to be close to him. She has to know he's there, that he's real. That he isn't going to be gone as soon as she opens her eyes.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _If I could begin to be_  
>  _Half of what you think of me_  
>  _I could do about anything_  
>  _I could even learn how to love  
> _


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> _i could even learn how love like you_

It’s the second cycle before he comments on her talents.

He’s seen her write before; they all have. Little Lucretia Greenfell, the child he had rescued all those years ago, grown up into an author. A biographer. A _chronicler_. She took notes meticulously, transferring them from one notebook to two others once the cycle was complete. Nothing seemed to be able to distract her; not even the Taaco Twins’ desperate efforts to get her to leave the ship. Only Magnus seemed to be able to get her attention when she fell into these spells, and even then only occasionally.

“It’s a, uh, I guess a form of therapy?” Magnus said when Davenport finally asked, about halfway through the first cycle. He’d looked nervous, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but continued with, “She started writing when we were kids, y’know? Letters. Notes. She—”

He had cut himself off at that point, shaking his head and telling Davenport it wasn’t his place. Lucretia was his _sister_ , after all; perhaps not biologically, as he already knew, but a lifetime together had made them siblings nonetheless. Davenport had respected Magnus’ answer and let it drop.

But now he sits across from her in the kitchen, and is truly able to appreciate her talents. Writing with both hands in matching, perfect script. She never once looks up, doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. The glass of water before her looks untouched, save for a long-dried ring of neutral lipstick. He can’t help but wonder if it had been a gift from Lup.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She jumps, as if finally realizing she isn’t alone, and quickly clears her throat. Both hands move, finishing off the sentence, before finally putting the quills away.

“What do you mean, Captain?”

He nods to her journals, and notices the way her face darkens slightly. “That. You said you were a writer when you offered to join. I didn’t know that meant…”

“I was proficient?” She shrugs, and reaches for the glass of water. His mustache twitches, hiding a smile as she downs nearly half of it. “I had to be, sir. People want the _truth_ of history, whether they know it or not, and it is up to me to provide that. In fiction, you can mess up. A scene doesn’t work right, or fit into your narrative? You can cut it out, rewrite it, work around it. But reality isn’t like that. Two copies mean I keep the truth as it is, even if one is destroyed.”

So well-spoken, especially for a girl of eighteen. A girl he’d seen jump on teenagers, try to talk down an angry Orc. A girl he’d kicked off his own ship what seemed like a lifetime ago. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she wasn’t the same. He doesn’t say any of what he’s thinking, however; instead, he simply nods, pressing his lips together in a frown.

“That isn’t the answer you wanted,” she says, and he curses her perception. “Magnus said you spoke to him about me.”

“Did he, now?”

He would have to talk to Magnus about that.

She doesn’t seem to notice his dilemma, or perhaps is too gentle to mention it, and instead bobs her head. “I won’t go into details, because frankly our conversations are between us, but he mentioned that you were asking about my writing. What did you what to know?” She doesn’t give him the chance to answer, and instead continues with, “I realized I could write with both hands when I was three. I started writing letters at six, stories at eight, and began recording the histories of those in my town when I was eleven. Published my first book when I was fourteen; ghost-written, but still my words, and never looked back.”

His mustache twitches, and Davenport fights a frown. “Your achievements are interesting, but,” he pauses, as if trying to figure out the best way to word his question, and in the end only settles on a simple, “but _why_?”

“That seems like a personal question, Captain.” He starts to stand, to push himself away, and she reaches out. Touching his hand, a half-smile on her lips, Lucretia continues, “I didn’t say no, but I want this to be quid-pro-quo. I don’t think I know anything about you, Captain, and boring backstories make for boring characters.”

His lips twitch again, but there’s something there, something he’s trying to hide. He is her Captain, but nearly two years with his crew had built something there. Not quite pride, not quite joy, but close. “Are you calling me _boring_ , Lucretia?”

She pulls her hand back, flipping a few pages in her journals, and picks up the quills once more. Her smile matches his; knowing, challenging, daring. “I’m calling your character boring, Captain. No one wants to read about a man who has nothing to lose. Give me something to write, and I’ll tell you why I want it.”

“You want a tragic backstory?”

“Oh, no.” Her eyes sparkle with something familiar, “I want _motivation_.”

* * *

“Dad’n’port, we’re going planetside!”

From the helm, the gathered crew can hear their Captain groan. Magnus grins, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Lucretia giggles behind her hand. The Taaco Twins share a knowing look, even as Davenport swivels his chair, to look back at them. He looks tired, Lucretia can’t help but notice, and feels a twinge of pity in her heart. The last cycle hadn’t been easy on any of them, but it had been necessary. They are all necessary, in one way or another.

“You wanna to grab you anything?” she murmurs, stepping forward. “Maggie said they’re pretty friendly down there. I can see if they have star maps, or--”

He tries to smile, but she can see the way his ears droop. How much has he slept this cycle? “I would like that.”

She nods. “We’ll be back, then, sir.”

Lucretia and Magnus split his gifts evenly. Magnus buys a few star maps, a mug he painted to say #1 Dad, while Lucretia purchases a few extra journals for herself and a few fidget toys for her Captain. They don’t bother bringing it to him, but instead leave them on his desk. He’ll find them eventually.

They can’t help but grin when Davenport gives his next Captain’s Speech with a twist toy.

* * *

“So it was all spite?”

“No. No, not all of it.” He stirs his tea absentmindedly, glancing up at her occasionally. Still writing, still dutifully transcribing this entire conversation. “I would consider it more _ambition_. Gnomes aren’t known for going out and seeing the world. We aren’t _known_ for being Captains. But I wanted to be. I always wanted to travel the oceans, and once I had, I turned my eyes to the stars.”

She nods, once. “I— I understand, sir. Perhaps not in the same way, but, well… I’m sure you remember Grim Beach. Sleepy, slow. People kept to themselves. Nothing there tended to lend itself to any sort of story. I needed to see more. I needed to make something of myself.”

His mustache twitches, eyes softening. “My parents wanted me to settle down.”

“How _boring_.” Her nose wrinkles, and she adds a small doodle at the end of her transcribed sentence. “There’s so much to see. So much we can write and take back to the— well. Well, perhaps not _take back_ , not anymore, but…” Lucretia shakes her head, turning back to him. She seems to straighten her stance, square her shoulders. “What is Captain Davenport’s motivation now?”

“Oh, no.” He brings his mug up to his lips and sips. “You’re not getting out of our arrangement, Brightquill. It’s your turn.”

She seems to falter at the name, both quills hesitating; not yet moving, but wanting to. “Brightquill?”

He waves at nothing. “Gnomes are infamous for our— oh, how did that one elf put it?— _obsession_ with names. But, please, don’t change the subject. Quid pro quo, remember?”

She seems to straighten then, eyes focusing once more on her writings. But he can see her seem to pick up, script flowing eloquently as she speaks.

“I’m not sure where you want me to start, but I’ll try. You already know a bit about my childhood, from, uh--” She seems to flush, quills faltering once more, before she finally settles on the right words, “--from our previous meetings. Mother died when I was young, and for a while, I only had Magnus. I grew up poor, never knew my father. Never _wanted_ to. But I guess…” She hesitates once more. He sips his tea, giving her another second. “I guess it was a similar situation. Grim Beach was a small town filled with small people, and I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be sure that I could make my mother proud.”

He leans back in his seat, putting the empty cup to the side, and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he simply watches her; sees her watching him, expectantly. After another moment, Lucretia clears her throat.

“Does that, um, does that answer your question, Captain?”

“In a way. But in another way, I expected something…” He falters when her eyes change, softening. “...perhaps something a little more _selfish_? We all had our reasons for joining expedition, but you seem to have joined for…?”

She places her quills down, hands retreating into her lap. “To remain with Maggie. Magnus. He’s the only family I have. I _had_.”

Thank the gods he still isn’t drinking his tea, or he might have spat it out. Instead, he simply chokes on his own spit, then clears his throat. Smooth attempt at covering it. The Captain takes a moment to steady himself, to cover his mouth and cough. Lucretia sits patiently, watching him. Concerned, but not pitying. He can handle that.

“Now,” she says, once he’s righted himself. Lucretia reaches for her quills again, then pauses. Instead, she grabs the kettle and pours them both another cup of tea. Well now he’s contractually obligated to remain. “I believe you owe me an answer.”

He smiles, adds a splash of milk and a teaspoon of honey. “One more round, and then we both need to retire for the night.”

“I don’t need sleep.”

* * *

It’s a terrifying feeling.

Ever since he was a child, he’d fought against it. This tightness in his chest, the way his heart seems to fly into his throat every time they find themselves engaged in battle. Gnome society was built around family; Davenport himself remembers living within a multigenerational commune, where he was expected to be his lowest priority. Your family came first, in gnome society. Your partner, your children, your parents-- They all had to come before yourself.

That life had never suited him, and he had sworn all those years ago to never follow in his family’s footsteps. He had ambition. He had a desire to see the stars. And now, twenty-one years after reaching beyond his own stars, he knows not even his strength and ambition could fight against his heart.

He stands on the wraparound porch of their makeshift shelter; this beach house that Lucretia designed, that Magnus and the team had built. There’s a drink in his hand, Taako’s own recipe, and a wonderful ocean breeze that carries the smell and taste of salt through the air. It’s the happiest he’s been in-- in _years_ , he thinks, and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if it’s the beach, or the sight before him.

Taako on Magnus’ shoulders, Barry on Lup’s. They’re in the water, playing, wrestling. Their laughter is carried by the breeze, causing his mustache to twitch, and he takes another sip of his drink. Merle lying shirtless on a beach towel, sunglasses hiding his eyes. There are hibiscuses in his beard, a smile on his face, and Davenport feels his heart skip a beat. That alone deserves another big sip of the daquiri. Apart from the others, Lucretia sits, her notebook in front of her. Just one. She doesn’t seem to be writing, but instead she’s-- he takes a moment to lean closer-- she’s sketching. She’s _laughing_ as Lup tosses Barry off her shoulders and tackles Taako off Magnus’.

The sound of gathered laughter is enough to cause his chest to squeeze, but it’s unlike anything he’s felt before. He’s worried for his team. He’s _feared_ for their lives. He’s watched most of them died and mourned each of them accordingly. But now, looking out at them, he knows. And he realizes, as he downs the last half of his drink, that it _scares him_.

Captain Davenport of the IPRE hadn’t just found the perfect crew; he’s found the perfect _family_.

He loves them.


End file.
